Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,91
“You okay?”
I laid my head on the seat rest and closed my eyes briefly. “No.”
“Do you want to talk about anything? That was a wild scene back there and—”
“No. Sorry. I just…”
“I understand,” he said softly.
Dec dropped me off at the emergency room at St. Joseph’s. He mentioned something about parking, but I was halfway to the sliding glass doors. Nothing registered. I needed to get to my family.
“Tegan!” My father stood on shaky legs and fell into my arms the second I found my sister and him in the waiting room.
His chest heaved as he sobbed. I almost collapsed right there and then. I held on to him and manically searched the antiseptic-smelling room for answers.
Maggie gave me a look I couldn’t read to save my life.
Oh, God. Please. Please. Please.
“Shh. She’s okay, T.” Mags put one arm around me and the other around our father. I didn’t know how long we stood like that. But I was afraid to move. The air felt fragile. I didn’t want to take any chances. Maggie kissed my dad’s temple, then mine. “They’re admitting her—”
“Wh-why? You said she’s okay.” I straightened, raking my hand through my hair.
“She just came to. That’s why Dad is…”
“I thought I lost her. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Dad repeated, shuffling to a nearby chair to pick up his jacket. “I’m glad you’re here, Sport. I wish Rachel was here too, but…”
“Dad, she’s coming tomorrow. We’re here. We’re all here. We’re together. And she’s okay. She’s going to be okay,” Maggie whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
Dad took a deep breath and set his hand on my arm. He tried to smile, but it wasn’t pretty. Deep creases cut grooves of worry on his face. His once-brown hair was mostly silver now, and his slumped shoulders gave him a defeated look that looked so wrong on him.
I slung my arm over his shoulder and closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them again, I saw Dec. He stood at the end of a row of ugly upholstered chairs, watching us. I wanted to reach out to him, but I didn’t know how.
I just fucking didn’t know how.
Mom spent the night at the hospital with Dad at her side. Mags and I found Dec in the waiting room doing head bobs sometime around eight p.m. Maggie hugged Dec like a long-lost brother and thanked him for looking after me before issuing strict instructions for me to take a fucking shower.
“I love you, but you stink, little bro. Get some rest.”
Dec and I were mostly quiet on the ride. I think he talked about food. He made grilled cheese and heated a can of tomato soup he found in the pantry when we got to my parents’ house. We sat side by side and ate our meal, like we did when we were kids. He didn’t fill the silence with needless chatter, but he didn’t let me stew in negative thoughts either.
And I had to admit, my thoughts were bleak and unsettled.
I took a shower and trudged to my old room with a towel around my waist. Dec sat on my bed, thumbing through an old comic book. He smiled when I walked in, setting the comic aside.
“You still have a double bed,” he commented.
I stepped into a pair of red plaid flannel PJs and shrugged as I folded back the duvet before falling onto the mattress. “I don’t live here. I just sleep over during the holidays…thus the PJs. I have more in the second drawer.”
Dec casually disrobed, pulling on a pair of green plaid pajama bottoms and helped himself to an ancient tee with a surfboard emblazed on the front. He sat on the bed, facing me, with his legs crossed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not the one in the hospital. I’m fine.”
“Life has a funny way of offering perspective. I almost forgot about that damn article.”
“Oh, right. Thanks for the reminder.” I pulled the comforter over my head and rolled onto my side. I could still see the outlines from the stickers I’d put all over the wall as a kid.
“I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it.”
I rolled toward him again. “What do you mean, ‘take care of it’?”
“Charlie wants a meeting to discuss our response. He texted to see how you were. I’ll call him in the morning.”
“What are we supposed to say?”
“I don’t know. You know Char. He’s going to want a counter-story. What else am I allowed to tell him about us?”